


coming to terms

by rosyasteria



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Found Family, Hurt No Comfort, Phil Is Tired And Wants His Family Back, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Post-War, sleepy bois inc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosyasteria/pseuds/rosyasteria
Summary: Phil had killed his son, and watched as his other two disowned one another, all in the span of a night.He had to come to terms with what happened.Phil looks after his kids, no matter if they hate each other, and reflects on the past.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 207
Collections: SBI Fics to Make Sebbie Cry





	coming to terms

Phil loved his kids. He’d do anything for them. Which is why it hurt so harshly to see them fighting one another. Never did he think he’d be on the receiving end of a crossbow bolt from Techno, his eldest, the son he’d taken in first, the son who never really aged except in mind.

Of course he was standing by Tommy, of course he was. There was no chance he’d abandon his youngest during a war, no matter how much he wished they were all on the same side. They were too different. Wilbur was too flighty and trigger happy, Techno too cocksure and brutal compared to Tommy’s energetically charged love for his country and his people. Wilbur taught Tommy to feel that, and now he was gone.

Phil’s hands ached. His body ached. His wings ached. They’d gotten injured on his way into L’Manburg and he couldn’t fly anymore. Well, not until he got them fixed up, and he had more pressing matters than a few red-soaked feathers and a bone-deep throbbing in his scapulars. He shrugged it off the best he could.

He’d managed to keep Techno in L’Manburg. Whether it was because he was too injured to fight back or if he still felt loyalty to his father Phil didn’t know. The rubble of what used to be Tommy’s home was where they sat, Techno atop the ender chest in the corner, Phil pacing opposite him like a caged tiger.

“I meant what I said.” Techno spoke, breaking Phil from his stress-induced pacing.

“I won’t stop killing until the government is gone. I’ve had everyone on this server die by my hand before and I will do it again Phil. You know what I’m capable of.” He added, leveraging himself to his feet with his crossbow acting as a cane. Phil stepped into his space and pushed him back down onto the ender chest.

“Fuck’s sake, Techno. They’re  _ family_.” He pleaded, kicking the pile of netherite armour he’d taken off after the battle and thrown to the ground.

“Well our family’s never been perfect, has it?” Techno sighed, leaning back against the wall after Phil removed his cloak and started unbuttoning his blood-soaked shirt. There was a large crossbow bolt embedded in Techno’s chest, just below his collarbone, sluggishly bleeding gold.

“Doesn’t mean you have to set two withers on your little brother and his home, Techno, don’t be stupid we both know you’re not.” Phil gripped the bolt and yanked it out swiftly, gritting his teeth at the spurt of golden blood from the wound and Techno’s grunt of pain. Techno stared at Phil’s hands, hands which had been covered with his blood before but never from wounds created by his family. Phil passed him a regeneration potion that lay still-corked on the soot covered floor of Tommy’s old home, and watched vigilantly as he drank it, just to make sure.

Before this, before the wars, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy would pretend to drink healing potions in favour of stashing them away for emergencies, since they weren’t really well off back home and could do with all the supplies they could get their hands on. Techno was hardworking and crafted things by himself, Wilbur could con anyone out of their stuff, and Tommy just had quick fingers and more often than not would come home from trading in the village with more money than he left with, and double the items.

Maybe it was too much wishful thinking to hope that Techno would see the pain and damage he caused, because if Phil was brutally honest with himself he  _ knew _ Techno was aware of what he’d done. Techno, out of his three kids, was the most clear headed brother of them all. Phil had raised him but if he was being honest Techno had no doubt been alive far longer than his appearance portrayed. Of course Techno knew what he’d done. Phil would be worried if he was suddenly ignorant to his literal war crimes.

He wiped his brow.

Taking a last look at the crossbow wound, it had neatly scarred over, so Phil poured a water bottle over it to wash Techno’s gold blood from his chest.

Techno bled gold. Strange, sure, but it was what it was. They’d tested it back home. It wasn’t molten gold, it just shone the same and as far as Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy were aware nothing else in the overworld or otherwise bled the same. Techno was just a bit weird, that was all, with his pig’s feet and tusks he used to file down and that unnerving blank stare he usually had on his face. When they were all back home Techno used to tell Tommy bedtime stories about how he was half piglin and the adventures he got up to in the nether. Phil never really did confirm any of that in the long run.

  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Phil turned upon hearing Tommy’s voice directed towards Techno, the boy stepping over holes in the ground of his house. He was dirty, bruised, and the years of patching his youngest up made him an expert at sussing out what was wrong. He walked with a slight limp, his long hair damp and red in patches, and his teeth were grit together.

Techno didn’t reply, continuing to sit atop the ender chest and watch Tommy rifle through what items of his were left.

“Sit down, Tommy.” Phil said, sighing. Tommy turned with fire in his eyes.

“You’re harbouring a war criminal in my house, Phil, you don’t get to tell me what to do.” He snapped, knees buckling. Phil watched him try to play it off like he had decided to sit down, and elected to sit right beside him. Tommy stared him down quizzically.

“You alright?” Phil asked, testing to see if Tommy would be honest or blatantly lie about his injuries.

“Fine.. Thanks.” Tommy tacked the last word on after a split second of deliberation. Despite everything Phil was still his dad, and Tommy had far too much respect to not be at least polite. Techno, on the other hand, could get fucked. In Tommy’s eyes the pseudo-god was no longer family.

“Let me see what’s up.” Phil offered, gauging his youngest’s reaction and exhaling with relief as Tommy straightened a leg in front of him with a wince.

“Knocked my knee going through the blast site, could be dislocated, and took a nasty hit to the head when Techno shot a firework at my face, prick.” He said, flipping his now long hair to show the gash that was starting to crust over nestled in his scalp. Phil didn’t say anything at the comment towards Techno, and braced both hands on what he confirmed was Tommy’s dislocated knee, giving the kid a few seconds to brace himself. He winced as he popped it back into place, tuning out Tommy’s cry of pain as he did so.

“Stay sat down for a bit.” Phil said, rubbing Tommy’s arm comfortingly, his heart aching as he watched Tommy fight between flinching away and leaning into the touch. Tommy used to be such a tactile kid, hanging off of Wilbur’s back like a monkey, seeking Phil out in the middle of the night after a bad dream for a hug, sitting atop Techno’s shoulders to pick the good apples. It broke Phil to see Tommy jumping from his touch like a frightened animal. Not to mention his haggard appearance. The war was chaos on his body, but Phil could see how the present time had changed him.

In the four years Tommy had been away from Phil, away from home, he’d grown. He was no longer the scrawny kid who was too tall for his bones, who smacked his forehead on the tops of door frames on accident, who snapped his bones like twigs falling from trees, who liked his hair short cropped because the tickle of it against the nape of his neck reminded him of the time he fell into a spider’s nest. His hair now was long enough to be tied back with a ribbon, blonde and in the margin between straight and wavy, curling at the ends. He’d tucked his fringe behind his ear.

He remembered cutting Tommy’s hair with shears when he was a child, and wondered when Tommy had lost the trust to let Wilbur hold a sharp blade near his neck.

He’d grown into his height since Phil last saw him at seventeen years old, body now lean and muscular at twenty one, but scarred up from years of war and conflict rather than from childish endeavours. Phil found himself missing Tommy’s early years, but was proud of him now regardless.

He watched Tommy take a few deep breaths before standing, dislodging Phil’s warm hand on his upper arm, still limping slightly. He used his sword as a crutch as he stepped over the patchy craters in his home, and then paused at the decimated doorway.

  
“I want you out of L’Manburg by sundown. I don’t care if you drop dead at the border, I want you gone, Techno. You’re not my brother.” He said with far more composition than Phil expected, looking every bit like a soldier and nothing like the kid Phil raised years ago. Phil glanced at Techno, who didn’t look surprised in the slightest, but he knew the look of hurt on his eldest’s face, and Techno was in pain. Not just from his recovering injuries.

He watched as Techno nodded once, and then Tommy left. Tubbo was stood waiting by the prime path, at the opening to the tunnel through the mountain. Phil saw Tubbo take Tommy into his open arms, holding him close for a second, before slinging an arm around his back and supporting his friend’s weak leg. The sky was starting to turn peach. He turned to Techno.

“I’ll walk you back to your base-“

“Stay here, Phil. I  will be back, _someday_ , to hold my promise, but they’re gonna need all the help they can get, and if I were to die to anyone in this shithole I’d rather it be you.” Techno cut him off, rising to his feet steadily, already mostly healed. He pulled his netherite helmet on and walked out of the house, hopping over the fence facing Bad’s duck statue and promptly disappearing down the hill.

Phil sighed, looking down at his hands, eyes zeroing in on the gold blood stuck there. He walked over to Tommy’s little farm, somehow untouched by the explosions, and stuck his hands into the water reserves, scrubbing away Techno’s blood. Then he just sat there.

It had been one day he’d spent with his sons after they left home only four years prior, and now one of them was dead by his own hand and the others had disowned each other. Phil couldn’t help but feel as if he played a hand in it. Of course he did. He raised them their adolescent years, saw how they interacted with each other, with the world. His mind flitted back to Wilbur.

He remembered the kid banging on his door at seventeen years old in pouring rain, a skeleton aiming at his head. He remembered pulling him in by his wet jumper and slamming the door, hearing the hard thud of the arrow against it as loud as the thunder shaking the cottage. Techno had come from his bedroom not long after, dressed in woollen pyjama bottoms and holding a sword aloft in the direction of the wet teenager. 

_ “Techno, put the sword down.” Phil stepped between the two of them, hand out towards his son. Techno kept wary eyes on the stranger as he flipped the blade and handed it, handle out, to Phil. He then walked past the boy, picking up a cauldron of water and setting it over the glowing coals of the fireplace, stoking them as he threw a log atop them. _

_  
Phil attached the sword to his hip, gesturing for the kid to sit at the table, attaching a pot of leftover stew atop the stove and stirring it. _

_ “How’d you end up out here, at night, during a storm.” Techno said, surprising Phil. He didn’t talk a lot, it took him a good few months to even start talking to Phil when he took the kid in. Phil looked over to the boy, who was twiddling his thumbs in his lap. He didn’t speak. _

_ “Go easy on him, Tech.” Phil chided softly, rolling his eyes at Techno’s exasperated huff, watching his son pull the now heated cauldron of water over to their bathroom. He heard the pouring of the water and the sound of the cauldron hitting the floor. Techno left the room then, cheeks red from the heat of the water. _

_ “Water’s hot, there are buckets of cold water to cool the bath down, I’m going back to bed, goodnight dad, don’t stay up too late.” He gave a small wave to Phil before disappearing down the darkened hallway, the click of a door shutting the only indication that he’d actually gone back to his bedroom and not just lurked. Phil smiled, stirring the warming stew. Techno didn’t have to run the child a hot bath, especially since he was so distrustful, but Phil reckoned he saw himself in the boy, and a warm bath was the first thing Phil offered to Techno upon finding him four years prior. He spooned the stew into a bowl and set it down in front of the kid. _

_ “You don’t have to speak just now, but you have food and a warm bath and a roof over your head for as long as you need it, and you are welcome to stay.” Phil smiled, taking the seat across the table. The boy ate a mouthful of stew and swallowed without chewing. His brown eyes met Phil’s as he continued to drip water over the floor. _

_ “Wilbur.” He spoke after a while, wiping a smudge of stew from his lips. Phil looked at him quizzically. _

_ “My name’s Wilbur.” He murmured as he finished the food. _

Phil sat back against the ruins of Tommy’s home, the crumbling stone walls. He’d killed him. That same year, only a few months after Wilbur’s arrival, Tommy came along at thirteen years old, having broken in through Phil’s bedroom window to hide from a bunch of villagers he’d stolen supplies from. The nearest village was an hours walk away, and Tommy had screamed bloody murder when he’d been pinned against the wall by Techno, arrow to his jugular. Sure, the arrow wasn’t fully finished, but the arrowhead was sharp and Tommy still had the small pockmarked scar from it to this day.

Four years they’d spent with Phil before leaving home, having heard of Dream’s land from Phil’s stories of exploring when he was younger, before he’d even taken in Techno.

He wished he could’ve had more time. He regretted neglecting Wilbur, even if it wasn’t on purpose. Technoblade was a handful, always overworking himself and preparing for something Phil wasn’t and probably never would’ve been privy to, and Tommy was a firecracker from the start, needing Phil’s calm hand to guide him so he didn’t spontaneously become an enemy to the other surrounding communities outside of their little grove. Wilbur just, wasn’t as much of a big deal in the chaos of their family. That didn’t mean Phil loved him any less, his attention was just elsewhere.

Maybe that made him a bad father.

He blinked back tears with a sharp intake of breath. It was if he could still feel Wilbur’s blood slicking his hands, the handle of the sword quivering in his grasp as it shot through his son’s abdomen, his muffled sobs.

_”It’s okay. I don’t think I would’ve lived long after this anyway. I haven’t felt this at peace in a long time. Thank you, dad.” Wilbur sobbed, collapsing into Phil’s grasp with numb legs, hooking his arms over his shoulders and crying into his tunic. Phil sunk to his knees, pulling Wilbur into his arms and cradling him. He could hear Tommy and Techno arguing not too far away but it was fuzzy, an afterthought. He cried into Wilbur’s ash filled hair and steeled himself as his son’s body went limp. He got to his feet. He had withers to kill._

  
He missed the time where all his sons were home, when a freshly turned seventeen year old Tommy brought a tired Tubbo back from the nearest village just a month before he, Wilbur, and the kid in question left for Dream’s land. Everything was so simple, so good. And that was gone.

He stood, grabbing the netherite armour he’d taken off god knows how long ago. He wasn’t sure what was to come next, but his remaining family was his priority, whether they had disowned one another or not.

**Author's Note:**

> hi ! im link, im an 18 year old nonbinary college student from england and writing is one of my favourite hobbies so i love posting to make other people happy!
> 
> my twitter is @ORPHANBLADE if you want to give me a follow!


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